


Non-Covalent Bonds and Other Weak Forces

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-05
Updated: 2009-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chemistry for Dummies (like John.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non-Covalent Bonds and Other Weak Forces

McKay is talking too fast.

Not that he ever talks _slow_, really, but right now he is bubbling with words that tumble over in John's tired brain like the spin-dry at a laundromat, and it's too much. John really doesn't understand whatever it is Rodney dragged him into his quarters to say—Atlantis and carbon atoms, tight quarters and covalent bonds? What the hell does hydrogen have to do with anything—which sucks on a lot of levels because a) John can tell this is pretty important since Rodney has turned bright red with excitement, and b) Rodney has finally stopped and is looking at him, lower lip caught between his teeth, with an expression in his eyes that reads somewhere between _please_ and _we're doomed_ and _don't hit me_.

John would never hit Rodney, so the fear doesn't make sense. Well, he'd never hit Rodney unless Rodney asked him to and was wearing some kind of personal shield device. Or, if he were to wake John up from a bad nightmare, like he did on M3X-901, stupidly leaning _over_ John and shaking his chest, so the first thing John felt was this oppressive shadow and a hand pressing down right _there_.

Even then, John didn't hit Rodney, just grabbed his wrist a little too damned hard and dragged it away, making Rodney yelp in a very manly fashion.

John didn't hear the end of that one for days. Rodney even made him type up his own scathing email, since of course Rodney was _incapacitated by your vicious man-handling of my person_. (Like it was John's fault.)

Of course, pondering the blame quotient of waking someone with PTSD is doing nothing at all to tell him what he's supposed to say right now, with Rodney staring at him, more of the _don't hit me_ coming out every second and a wincing of Rodney's shoulders that makes John's go tight in sympathy.

So, John decides to come clean.

"I don't—I'm sorry, I don't understand. Did something happen in the lab? I won't get mad, I promise."

John's confused questions make the fear go away, which is good, but then blue fire comes raging from Rodney's eyes, which is bad. Very bad. The phrases _stupid, moronic twit_, and _sub-human levels of intelligence_, and _hair for brains_ come spewing out next, and John starts watching the hands—yup, there go the hands, waving and weaving and possibly doing charades of some kind—because the mouth is way too confusing. It's like Rodney's been spliced into a Japanese monster movie, because John could swear more words are coming out than are justified by his lip movements.

It's been a long day for John. A really, really long day in which a moose almost ate him (Teyla can call the damned thing whatever she wants) and they succeeded in acquiring a bunch of Pegasus dental floss and a case of very, very hard liquor, which John needs right now. Maybe a couple of shots will help numb the moose bites still heating his ass.

But Rodney is his friend, and is obviously really, really worked up, and John still doesn't understand what a Bunsen burner has to do with anything. He gets that this is some kind of extended metaphor Rodney is working—about chemistry, and bonding—maybe this is about the team? Maybe it has something to do with what went down on the planet today—how they all moved so smoothly to contain the crisis without killing the sacred moose or pissing off the inhabitants—

No. Because Rodney is staring at him, totally exasperated now, probably because John is scratching his head. There's grass in his hair, which is annoying, and he fluffs it out so it falls on his T-shirt like green dandruff.

"You really are that dense, aren't you? I mean, you really haven't understood a single damned thing I've just told you."

John shakes his head, and more grass flies from his hair. "Sorry, no. I get that it was a metaphor, though. Does that count?"

The nervous exasperation disappears, and Rodney starts quietly laughing at him. John can't remember Rodney laughing very much since he's known him—short barks of amusement, yeah, but not like this. He's laughing hard, almost soundlessly, just heavy hitches of breath, a huge grin crinkling his eyes and creasing his cheeks.

It's kind of nice seeing Rodney laugh like that, and after a moment it gets John going, too, embarrassed a little at the _har-har-hars_ that escape from his mouth, but that just makes Rodney laugh harder, until tears are squeezing out of his eyes and he bends over to rest his hands on his thighs, still chuckling silently.

"I should have brought a whiteboard," Rodney gasps out, and manages to set himself off again, chuckling so hard he almost teeters over. John isn't in as bad a shape, so he reaches out and catches Rodney before he falls on his ass.

Rodney's laughter cuts off like he's been shot. It feels dangerous for some reason, and John almost backs away, because maybe this is the part where Rodney hits _him_. Not that John couldn't take it, but Rodney might break a tiny hand bone or something and then John's back to typing up nasty emails to himself.

But Rodney doesn't hit him. Instead, he straightens up, and he's awfully close, what with John's hands still on his shoulder and waist. So now John really does mean to back off, except he's trapped, because somehow Rodney's hands have snuck around to grip him in turn.

"Let's see if this will help," Rodney says, and that's when he kisses him.

And, oh. Maybe John does have hair for brains after all, because suddenly he gets it. He gets that Rodney's lips, which are nicely soft and just a little bit wet, are really terrific. And John gets why he's surprised, because he's thought about Rodney's lips and that they seemed like they might be a little too thin to kiss properly, so if he thought that then he also should have known he wanted to test the hypothesis by sucking on the lower one until it pouts into John's mouth just right, plenty of lip there, so that's one theorem blown right out of the water.

And John understands, now—what Rodney meant about controlled atmospheres and that the melting point for molecules attracted by van der Waal's is very, very low—because John is already melting; the heat of Rodney's body pressed against his is enough to make him boil over, especially when Rodney moans and stuffs his hand down the front of John's pants and rubs his palm against the head of John's cock until he comes embarrassingly fast.

It's all really clear now, except fuzzy, too, because John's suffering from a sudden-sex coma. Rodney's humping against John's hip, and his mouth, his lush, not-at-all-too-thin mouth is sucking kisses along John's neck. John usually hates when people do that, but right now it just makes him want to slither down to his knees and suck on Rodney's cock.

John says as much, but that causes Rodney to gasp and come with a tiny, perfect little moan that raises the hair on the back of John's neck.

"Okay, so—I get it now," John says when his mouth starts working again, and Rodney dissolves into more silent laughter, his hand wrapped in John's T-shirt to hold them both upright.

"Idiot," Rodney says breathlessly.

And, yeah, John pretty much has to agree.


End file.
